Survivor's guilt, and no remedy to the broken, destroyed feelings I see in their faces. Jess killed herself last Sunday, Easter Sunday, April 12, 2009. She was twenty. Everyone around me is walking through a parallel world, we don't know why, we don't know why, she had plans for the summer, next semester, the future. She was twenty and happy and miserable and alone. I wish I could feel more, but I did not know her as well as I should have. She was there, and I was there, but we weren't often there together. The weekend before! I held back her hair. That is my most significant memory of her, and maybe that is my form of survivor's guilt. That I could have more, but have nothing. And I think that is what I am the saddest about.